There was a Crooked Man
by Disguise of Carnivorism
Summary: Giles doesn't miss his soul. Not in the slightest.


You're pathetic. Of course, you already knew that, but I'm not certain you understand. You do have a tendency to be awfully slow. Don't tell me you're surprised—aren't you supposed to be the big bad? Why would anything surprise you?

Too slow, too slow, Spike. See, this is what I meant. You're always just a bit… too slow. You'll have to better than that if you want to get anywhere.

Not that way, either. My, my, you are putting up a fight tonight. Something to prove, William? Don't worry. She's already dead, and she already knew you were getting soft in your old age. You are quite the waste of air—but oh! You don't breathe, now, do you.

It was at the airport, you see. I had a revelation—an epiphany, if you will. My veins were also exsanguinated, and my body infested by a demon, but so it goes. Regardless. I realized how worthless this all is, and how long I've been wasting my time. I hated you before, yes, but I never realized the extent of my disgust.

The truly wonderful thing about being dead is that now I have eternity to correct the mistakes I made by living. I think somewhere along the way you forgot that, Spike, you forgot that humans are the divine mistake. Which is why I have decided to start with you.

Yes, you're the first… Oh, dear, is that a lead pipe you have there? Wherever did you find that? I better take that off your hands or someone might get hurt.

Now where was I? Oh yes. You're the first. I need you properly six feet under. The others will be easier after you. No more pesky, overly helpful vampire to get in the way. Don't look like that; it isn't a compliment. It's simply a necessity.

You don't give up, do you? How annoying. I wanted this to be short. At this rate, we'll be here till sunrise. Pity. Well, that's what the grenade is for.

Who is that whimpering back there? Ah. Time's a-tickin', Willow.

—

You greedy whore. My God, that's cathartic. Let's say it again—together now. You greedy whore!

I knew I would find you here, counting the money, protecting the money, dying with the money. I think I shall burn it before I'm done with you. Perhaps I'll burn you, too. I haven't decided yet—it's so difficult to make up one's mind when everything's going so well.

Are you going to try to call for help? No one will hear you. Benjamin is only paper. No one else is here—just you, me, and the money.

It's such a pity you didn't have the decency to stay a vengeance demon, Anya. It's not your fault, of course. Wasn't your decision to make; from what you tell me it was rather mine. I'm so sorry about that old fool. But goodness, why on earth would you never revert?

Don't touch the inventory please, dear, you're going to make a mess.

Look what you've done now; the glass is everywhere, and after you're gone, who on earth is going to clean this up? Now, now, don't throw that at me. You know those are only useful as paperweights.

Spell books are off limits, Anya. Remember, the game is only fun when everyone plays fair.

What will Xander think when he finds you? Poor Xander. First the preying mantis, then the mummy, then the demon—oh, and we can't forget _Cordelia_… He doesn't have much luck with women, does he? Well, the ring is a surprise, but honestly, Anya, it changes nothing. You of all people ought to know how little it all means. You must realize he was going to abandon you at the altar.

Can you get up, or did I break your legs with that last throw? You don't look as if you're ready for another dance. I may have to put you out of your misery.

Don't look so sad, Anya, really. The world is a far better place without you.

—

'Giles, why are you doing this? Don't you remember… It's Dawn, Giles, it's me, Dawn! It's! Giles… why would you do something like this? It's…'

Dawn, I regret to inform you, but Giles isn't here right now. He stepped out for a spot of tea, and I don't believe he'll be returning in time for the curtain call.

'What did you do to them? Where's… Where's everyone! Giles, how could you do this! We… We… We loved you! Giles! Where's Spike, what happened to…'

Oh dear, I don't believe I can scream at that frequency. Perhaps I ought to tell Giles to return with that tea a mite sooner.

No more words. Are you finished already? Not particularly creative, are you? Even Anya fared better. So much repetition and no originality—but then, I suppose green balls of energy are hardly known for their abundance of thought.

Oh, was that your finger I just stepped on? It's so hard to see with all this debris.

Buffy? You still think she can save you? Keys must not possess much memory, either. Let me explain this, Dawn. I'll use small words.

Buffy jumped. Buffy didn't care any longer. Buffy was dying. Buffy was tired. Buffy couldn't fight anymore, Buffy lost everything she loved, Buffy didn't think you were worth it, Buffy didn't love you enough, Buffy took the easy way out. Buffy abandoned you. Just like your mother, just like your father, just like Spike, and just like Anya. They all left you a front row seat.

They didn't even look back, did they, Dawn?

No one notices, no one cares. You will die here, all alone, and no one will give a damn.

—

I used to stutter like that. Of course, I'd likely be stuttering now if my arm were on the opposite side of the room. What what what was that, Tara? I couldn't quite make make make it out.

I must congratulate you, though. You've actually managed to put up a fight. Those spells you used were particularly nasty. I didn't think you had it in you. All that dark, black, evil magic that turned your family from you.

They were right, you know. You can't judge the nature of your soul by Spike's fists.

Willow? Well, that's a little beside the point, isn't it? You're the one who's dying. You don't have to worry about Willow right now. If I were you, I'd be wondering what on earth that nasty Giles is going to do next.

Yes, I have plans for Willow. Oh, does that mean you think you can do something about them? Tara, your right arm is dangling from the windowsill. I doubt you're in any shape to stop me from doing anything.

I almost spared you this experience, did you know that? It almost felt as if it were unnecessary—because you have never truly belonged. It was a preponderant decision, but in the end I thought it better to do more than less. So here we are.

It's not quite the same, though. I barely know you—you've always been on the outside looking in. There's nothing really to say, no final words, no advice.

Well, I suppose there is one truth, one small piece of knowledge I could pass on before you go.

Willow's probably covered in fawn's blood right now. Is that because she enjoys it, or is because she's always loved Buffy more than you?

—

Look, the Zeppo thinks he's prepared. But you're not ready for this. You're never ready for anything.

In some ways I pity you the most—because you were always the most human. You've never tried to be anything else, and now you never will be. You were the one who was destined to live, breathe, and die in mediocrity.

You know, Dawn didn't even bother to call for you—only for Buffy. Everyone wants Buffy, everyone's looking for Buffy. The trouble is, no one has the sense to remember that Buffy is dead. And even dead, she's of more use than you.

It hurts, doesn't it, knowing they're all dead, that they didn't think you could save them. That everything you fought for was for nothing. That's just how easy it is, though, Xander, that's just how easily things fall apart.

Look at Buffy, look at her life, and tell me that you aren't experiencing déjà vu.

You have nothing to fight for anymore, nothing to die for, even. It's a terrible feeling, the waste. It's almost like you've become your father. You always thought he wasn't your real father, though, because how could a man like that be anyone's father? But then there's me. What am I then, son?

Oh, that hurts, does it? Do you know where I learned to do this? Not from Angelus. You can't blame everything on Buffy's soulless whelp. He would never know a trick quite this… elaborate. He always was too much of a brute. No. The watchers taught me this when I was your age.

The truly pitiable thing, though, of all of this, is that you don't understand yet. None of you understand. You still believe it's a demon, that Giles has gone somewhere else, that Giles is out to tea and shall never return. But the corpse isn't merely a puppet. Giles is here, son. Giles is me.

I have never been more myself.

—

I wonder what on earth she told you to get you down here. Let's all skip to the cemetery and hold hands? Well, I'm certainly not going to allow you to leave now. The dead need an audience, you see, and if you aren't here to hold the candles, then no one will.

There were others who were intended to be here. There were a few accidents, though, and they were unable to make it. Don't worry. I'm sure you'll do.

No, you're doing it completely wrong—it'll never work this way. Is it too much magic, Willow? You always were overzealous. Didn't I always tell you that you weren't ready, that you would never be ready?

But then, Buffy is worth it, isn't she—she's worth the risk. Is that what you tell yourself when the need for dark magic, for power, flows through your veins? You're truly pathetic without her. Without her, you're only Willow, the girl who was never good enough, even with the magic. Even with the magic all you can think of is the Slayer. The Slayer will save you, the Slayer will help you, the Slayer will stop this and return your Giles. Harping on and on… The Slayer, _Buffy_. Buffy—hm. That name does get old, doesn't it?

What the bloody hell do you think you're doing with that rope? You are far from done! Hold the candle. One would think you have a death wish, with this impatience.

I wonder what she'll do this time. I wonder how she'll react to this apocalypse, to this quaint little mess you've left her. Don't blame me: you can't blame the dead man for fulfilling his role. This is her fault. _I_ am her fault. I wonder what she'll say when she sees your corpse on her grave, when she digs herself from the pit and beholds everyone—dead. So many beautiful corpses. I can hardly wait.

No, Willow, the snake is supposed to be there. You didn't flinch when you slit the throat of the fawn, did you?

'What am I going to do to Buffy?' Why does everyone always ask that? They always want to know what happens to someone else. The question is, what will I do to you? What will I do to Willow—poor, mousy, reliable Willow who isn't quite powerful enough for anything.

But you are powerful enough, if only just, and it's already working.

The circle isn't complete, you understand. I've killed five, now, but in the circle there are always seven. You can recruit as many lackeys as you wish; it's not the same, and we both know it. You need a Slayer. You need Buffy to save you—just like the good old days, before she ruined it all and died.

You will finish the spell because in the end you don't have any other choice. They don't either, even if they wish they were running. You can't outfight me, not now—you can't do anything but tear her out of whatever peace she may have found and bring her to me. She will transcend heaven and hell to our miserable plane of existence because of you.

Make her crawl out of that grave we dug for her. Make her dig until her hands are bleeding.

I need closure.

Aha! Here she comes. Just a while longer. Shall we see if she's learned all I taught her? She always was a rather poor student.

What beautiful lights… They never tell you that raising the dead is almost like watching a sunrise.

There. Now, Willow—now you can die. Now she will let us all die.


End file.
